


Flatmates (Four 221B Drabbles)

by Carenejeans



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-19
Updated: 2010-10-19
Packaged: 2017-10-12 18:45:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/127910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carenejeans/pseuds/Carenejeans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Four related 221B drabbles - 221 words long, last word beginning with the letter "B."<br/>Thanks to Unovis, without whom the second drabble would have contained inadvertent archery. 8-)</p>
    </blockquote>





	Flatmates (Four 221B Drabbles)

**Author's Note:**

> Four related 221B drabbles - 221 words long, last word beginning with the letter "B."  
> Thanks to Unovis, without whom the second drabble would have contained inadvertent archery. 8-)

  
**New Data**

"Why are we sitting in the dark?" Sherlock had pulled the drapes and switched off the lights. John closed his book.

"Perfect lighting." The cushions sagged next to him.

"There's no lighting at all."

"Exactly," Sherlock said in his ear, and light exploded across John's retina.

"God!" Old training propelled him from the couch and into a combat crouch. The torch thudded against the wall, Sherlock straight-armed him back into the cushions, and John stared up into the steady beam of a penlight.

He blinked. Stars. Comet trails. Fireworks.

Sherlock's fingers pressed lightly against his throat. "Yes," he murmured "Good." The penlight flickered over John's face. "Talk," Sherlock demanded.

John swallowed. "Research?"

"Mm," Sherlock pulled John's eyelids apart. His eyes were enormous and intent behind the glare of the penlight. He expertly undid the buttons of John's shirt and pressed his palm over John's racing heart.

John tried to breathe. There had been air in the room, before. The walls properly at right angles to the floor. "Er, good reaction?"

Sherlock reached across him and switched on the lamp. His face was so close, John might almost… _no_.

"Very." Sherlock's quick smile might have been an apology. The room tilted back to normal and re-pressurized as he sprang away to his laptop.

"That's good, then," John said to Sherlock's back.

* * *

 **Our Song**

Sherlock played the violin beautifully, and for hours.

John threw down his paper. He pursed his lips at the ceiling. The melancholy air drew to a close. John closed his eyes. It was like waiting for a dog to bark. He opened his eyes.

"Don't your hands get cramped?" he said over the beginning notes of the old tune as Sherlock started again. His own hands twitched.

"Not really." Sherlock wiggled the fingers of one hand as if taken by the question. "Am I bothering you? I did warn you."

"It's fine." John escaped to the kitchen. Searching. Opening drawers and slamming them shut. _My kingdom for a pair of earplugs_. He accidentally bumped an intricate structure sitting on the counter and it collapsed into a heap of broken glass and tubing. The violin stopped.

John smiled vindictively.

The violin started again.

John stomped back to face Sherlock.

Sherlock plucked the violin's strings. The discordant note hung in the air like a whiff of brimstone.

"This is a test, isn't it?"

"A test?" Sherlock's regarded him thoughtfully. _Twang. Plink._

"To see what I'll do?" John snatched the infernal instrument from Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock smiled and steepled his fingers under his chin. "And what _will_ you do, John?"

"Let's just see, then, shall we?" John said, running a finger along the bow.

* * *

  
 **Together, at Last**

We're not together, John tells everyone. I'm not his date. Of course we'll need two bedrooms. I did not airquote, follow him home, unquote. I'm not loyal-- I just met him. I'm only making conversation, Sherlock, not making a pass. It's all _fine_ \--

It's not like that, really. They're not even close, though sometimes -- _You do realize you're saying that out loud?_ \-- John thinks he's the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock allows. Close enough, surely--

John's glad to be Sherlock's flatmate, happy to be his assistant, even though Sherlock calls him an idiot, keeps severed heads in the refrigerator, shoots the walls. John doesn't even mind filling in for a skull. Every day, things _happen_ to him. Sherlock says "dangerous" and John snaps to attention. He follows Sherlock into the dim theatres of corrupt and criminal circuses, into the deadly embrace of assassin giants, into the clutches of Sherlock's true arch enemy. Tempting and dodging death at every turn--

John feels _alive_. Sherlock runs him on one mad reckless race through London after another and it's the best time John's had in years, they catch their breath in alleyways and laugh together in empty hallways and--

Sherlock leans in close and one thing leads to another--

We're _together_ , John realizes-- the last one to get the bulletin.

* * *

  
 **A Cure for Boredom**

  
"Bored!"

 _Bang!_

"Bored!"

 _Bang! Bang!_

"Sherlock!" John dropped a bagful of pad thai and ducked out of the line of fire.

Sherlock whirled around to aim over his shoulder. The wall took another hit.

"Bored, bored, bored!"

"Sherlock, will you stop--" John circled around behind the assailant.

"BORED! BO-- _uff_!" The gun flew out of Sherlock's fingers and John twisted Sherlock's arms behind him. Sherlock stepped backward, expertly pivoted, and sent John tumbling, but John twisted and pulled Sherlock down after him. They rolled together until they hit the couch, John ending up on top, Sherlock furiously bucking underneath. John slammed him down by his shoulders, pinning him to the floor.

"Stop fighting me, damn it!"

Sherlock stopped fighting. John collapsed onto him, panting.

"Let me up."

"No."

"Kiss me, then."

John turned his head to stare, and Sherlock kissed him. Softly at first, then with as much furious passion as he'd spent fighting him. Rolling again, shedding clothes, kissing and licking and hips grinding together, skin to skin, cock to cock, coming fast, _hold me, yes_ , coming hard.

"God." John watched the ceiling spin. Sherlock fumbled for his stash of nicotine patches.

"That was-- that was amazing."

Sherlock held a patch to his arm. "Yes, but--"

John frowned. "But?"

Sherlock grinned and leaned close to whisper in John's ear. " _Bored_."

\---End---


End file.
